


explosions in the sky

by skeletalparade (boythighs)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, M/M, Makeup, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8618638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boythighs/pseuds/skeletalparade
Summary: Today, Yuuri emerges from the dressing room with lips so ruby rosen that Viktor is taken aback, left speechless as Yuuri blinks wide eyes up at him. He slicks his hair back a final time with his hands and gently wipes an errant bit of mascara from the side of his nose, nail scraping gently so as to not disturb the foundation set in place by the finest layer of translucent powder. A face eloquently painted and accentuated, and once again Viktor has no words. Yuuri remains full of surprises.“What is it?” Yuuri asks, shifting self consciously. For one so beautiful, he holds himself with no confidence whatsoever, still looking just as timid as he always does. Viktor knows that all of that will change when he glides out onto the ice and dons the persona of his eros, but in this moment, Yuuri is soft. A delicate flower blossoming for the first time, the Spring breeze forcing it to and fro. Viktor wants to pluck every last petal from his stem, bend him over the dance barre in the stretching room, hold his chin in place while he sinks into him from behind and makes Yuuri experience firsthand just how flawless he truly is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know if i've ever published a fic about blowjobs anywhere on the internet before, so this is a first. i hope it's not too bad, and even if it is? don't tell me. i love living in my fancy little bubble of disbelief.

Viktor is no stranger to makeup.

There have been plenty of programs in his time that have called for a good face painting. _Most_ ice skaters have experience with makeup - it’s one small part of any well designed costume, no different than the clinging spandex and elaborate headdresses they all use. The object of the costume is to draw the eye to you, to make you stand out, to help you encapture the character you are trying to portray to an audience. Not unlike acting, it is the skater’s job to perform in such a way that every single viewer is capable of interpreting the story. Makeup helps. It plays an important role.

Yuuri does not normally wear makeup. His skating and performances are so expressive that he hardly needs a little eyeshadow to bring his character to life. In that way, Viktor has always envied him. To be so striking on the ice, so beautiful and daring despite not being the best at flips and quads, to still hold every eye out in the stands. Yuuri is a thing of beauty, a force to be reckoned with, one that Viktor, all too often, finds himself overwhelmed by.

Today he is overwhelmed for reasons altogether different.

Today, Yuuri emerges from the dressing room with lips so ruby rosen that Viktor is taken aback, left speechless as Yuuri blinks wide eyes up at him. He slicks his hair back a final time with his hands and gently wipes an errant bit of mascara from the side of his nose, nail scraping gently so as to not disturb the foundation set in place by the finest layer of translucent powder. A face eloquently painted and accentuated, and once again Viktor has no words. Yuuri remains full of surprises.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, shifting self consciously. For one so beautiful, he holds himself with no confidence whatsoever, still looking just as timid as he always does. Viktor knows that all of that will change when he glides out onto the ice and dons the persona of his eros, but in this moment, Yuuri is soft. A delicate flower blossoming for the first time, the Spring breeze forcing it to and fro. Viktor wants to pluck every last petal from his stem, bend him over the dance barre in the stretching room, hold his chin in place while he sinks into him from behind and makes Yuuri _experience_ firsthand just how flawless he truly is.

None of that, however, can be done. Not right now, anyway.

Afterwards, perhaps.

“You don’t usually wear makeup, is all.” Viktor says, flattening a few imaginary wrinkles in his pleated pants, doing something with his hands so that he doesn’t reach out and smear that shiny red lipstick all over Yuuri’s cheeks. True, Yuuri does not need any of the makeup to be beautiful - but with it… god, Viktor wants to debauch him now more than ever, and is certain that the rest of the crowd will as well. Yuuri has made an excellent decision here, Viktor must admit.

His lips are the same shade as a blushing virgin’s cheeks, his eyes surrounded and accented with eyeshadow a brilliant burgandy, though the creases of his eyes fade out into smoky grays and blacks. His eyelashes have been curled to utmost perfection, plumped with a light coating of mascara, and framed by dazzlingly well done wings of eyeliner, so sharp they could be lethal. Viktor is awestruck by the careful way all of it has been applied, and just who taught Yuuri to do his makeup this well? His sister, perhaps.

“I thought I’d try something a bit different this time.” Yuuri says meekly, the flush of his cheeks not wholly masked by the makeup on his face. “Does it… look bad, then? I should take it off.”

Yuuri looks like he wants to turn and go back into the dressing room, to scrub all of his perfectly constructed features away, but Viktor catches him by the wrist and rather forcefully says, “No,” before he clears his throat. Shit, he doesn’t want to be so obvious. He doesn’t want Yuuri to know how desperate he is, how badly something as asinine as Yuuri’s makeup is affecting him. “No, leave it. It looks fine.”

Something flashes in Yuuri’s eyes. That calculating self-realization that Viktor has seen him express before, when he’s just figured out something integral to the puzzle, a missing piece that slots into place and makes the picture crystalline. And oh, _oh_ the way Yuuri flutters his lashes, then, looking up at Viktor from beneath them, so coy, so tempting. Viktor wonders what gave him away. The heated, heavy gaze, or the way he’d refused to let Yuuri wash his face? Both, maybe. But Yuuri knows, and Yuuri having knowledge of weakness, any weakness, is a sign of sure destruction for anyone that stands in his way.

Today. Viktor is the lone building resting in the hurricane’s war path.

“We should head out.” Yuuri says quietly, voice pitched lower than normal. Viktor groans out loud and follows Yuuri down the hall towards the auditorium, watching the way Yuuri swings his hips. So deliberate and teasing. Viktor doesn’t need to see his face to know that Yuuri is smirking, proud of himself.

It occurs, then, that there have been very few things in Viktor’s life that he has ever been desperate for. Everything he has ever wanted may not have come easy to him, but it _had_ come. He was a talented man, a risky man, a man with a taste for greatness and hunger for victory. But desperation was not something he was familiar with, and it makes sense that he has no idea how to cope with it, or how to manage it.

So it stands to reason that his desperation for Yuuri, especially today, is visible from the cosmos and, more importantly, Yuuri himself.

-

Yuuri scores higher than he ever has before in anything in all his life, and the crowd goes absolutely wild in awe of a flawless performance. There is no doubt for anyone, not even Yuuri, normally so anxious, who this victory will go to.

“You were phenomenal out there.”

Viktor’s breath is a cascading waterfall that spills down the back of Yuuri’s neck, velvet warmth that sends chills down Yuuri’s spine. At his shiver, Viktor grins, smug.

“It’s all thanks to you.” Yuuri retorts, eagerly wiping his neck down with his sweat towel. Onlookers might think that he’s wiping away sweat, but Viktor knows that Yuuri is, in all actuality, trying to chase the heat of Viktor’s breath from his tingling skin. All his baby hairs are standing erect, skin raised with goosebumps as Viktor settles a hand on his forearm, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

Their eyes meet and Viktor finds himself looking directly into the endlessness of outer space, an unexplored nebula, the remnants of an exploded star. Yuuri’s skin turns to stardust beneath Viktor’s fingers, sifting through the gaps between them. All of the adoration that Viktor maintains within himself for Yuuri pours from his eyes as he stares into the bursting light of Yuuri’s face, those crimson lips parted on a gentle smile that juxtaposes the intensity of his gaze.

And Viktor quivers under that scrutiny, feels his chest being ripped open as his heart bursts forth, bone and sinew expanding beneath his skin to make room for Yuuri to crawl inside, make a nest, and settle down.

“I didn’t - you - it was all inside of you all along.” Viktor breathes, every word a stunted punctuation of its own as he fights to form coherency. “You’ve always been great, you just. Needed some encouragement.”

Oh, Yuuri’s smile. How blinding and brilliant it is as he flashes two perfect rows of teeth, the luminescent lighting of the fluorescents above reflecting off them to blast directly through Viktor’s already torn asunder chest. His heart concaves - they need to get out of here. Viktor needs him alone, all to himself, to ravish in the same ways that Yuuri has been ravishing him all afternoon.

Viktor rises from the bench and Yuuri follows, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and following Viktor as he weaves through the crowds. Cameras flash from all directions, people wanting interviews, autographs, to congratulate Yuuri on an excellently flawless routine. Perhaps it’s rude of them to stop for no one, but when Yuuri slips his hand into the calloused warmth of Viktor’s and gives it a firm squeeze, Viktor ceases to feel guilty under the weight of the knowledge that Yuuri is just as desperate to have him as Viktor is to have Yuuri.

The door to the stretching room flies open in front of them, paving their way to privacy. Viktor’s body has been on auto-pilot for the entire walk, his brain a muddled, unconcentrated mess of dirty, wicked thoughts. Yuuri abandons his side to grab a foldable chair from the front of the room, wedging it firmly beneath the handle of the door to assure some privacy before he turns to advance on Viktor. The lithe press of Yuuri’s body guides him until his lower back meets the practice barre, all the breath that Viktor does still have flying from his lungs in one fell swoop. The barre shakes behind him, and Viktor is thankful for the fact that it is screwed into the floor.

And speaking of being screwed into the floor.

The look in Yuuri’s eyes is so white-hot that Viktor doesn’t bother trying to form words. The heat of his serpentine body as he snakes his hands up Viktor’s chest, over his shoulders, gripping tight at the hairs falling on the nape of his neck with fingers that curl with deliberate intent. Viktor feels his legs going weak.

This Yuuri is so different than the one from earlier. The bashful Yuuri, unsure of his appearance, afraid of looking bad before the audience of the entire world.

This Yuuri is straight off the ice. This Yuuri and the one that has managed to seduce the entire planet with his erotic figure skating are one and the same. Except Yuuri has always been aiming to just seduce Viktor, and, god, if he hasn’t been doing a _hauntingly_ amazing job.

“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me whole.” Yuuri purrs, clock-spring lashes bouncing up at Viktor. “Is that what you want, Viktor? To devour me? I bet,” And he shoves his leg between Viktor’s, knocking Viktor’s feet apart so that he can worm his knee up against Viktor’s hardening cock. Viktor wheezes under the sudden pressure. “You would have thrown me down onto the ice out there in front of everyone if I would have been willing. That’s how you look at me when I’m skating, you know. Like you want to knock me down and make me scream.”

Viktor can’t deny it, not any of it. He wets his increasingly drying lips, tongue heavy like cotton swabs in his mouth. The room is spinning, Viktor can hardly see straight from all the blood rushing south.

“Who made you like this?” Viktor murmurs, not displeased, but shocked by how brazen Yuuri suddenly is.

“You did.” Yuuri’s tongue is forked between his teeth as he runs it along them, wicked, wicked, wicked. “With all of your half-hidden, lusting gazes while I was skating. With every desiring touch. I’ve wanted you since before I met you, I just… I never…” His facade cracks as quickly as it had been formed, his porcelain surface trembling under the slightest uncertainty. The fire in his eyes dims with it, hands loose in Viktor’s hair as though he is contemplating an untimely retreat. “You _do_ want me, don’t you?”

Whatever remains of Viktor’s heart shatters at the tone of Yuuri’s frightened voice. As if Yuuri could have made it all up in his head, like he could have imagined every flighty look in his direction, all of Viktor’s poison-tipped arrows of lust aimed directly at Yuuri’s heart. Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and brings him all the way in, lifting him up onto the tips of his toes so that he can brush their lips together in soothing reassurance.

“Yuuri, there is nothing in this world that I have ever been more desperate to have than you.”

Waves of relief crash over Yuuri, and he does not hesitate to press their lips more firmly together, stealing all the breath from Viktor’s lungs once more. A crescendo of passion hits Viktor like a thousand bricks as they kiss, parting lips sharing stolen breaths, and his arms squeeze Yuuri tight. When they break apart, Yuuri is every bit as intention led as he had been prior, pressing Viktor painfully back against the barre as he attacks Viktor’s mouth with relentless kisses. He kisses like a man starved for it, drinks Viktor down in large gulps that make Viktor’s limbs feel like jello. For someone so inexperienced, Yuuri has no difficulty in making a grown man feel helpless beneath every press of his lips, every nip of his teeth, every tentative test of his tongue into Viktor’s accepting mouth.

Punchdrunk, Viktor peels away from Yuuri, the ache in his back one that goes ignored as he takes in the flush on Yuuri’s face. His cheeks are almost as vibrant as his lips - but not quite. Not quite.

Yuuri’s lipstick is smudged, but not nearly enough for Viktor to be content with its state. His skin prickles as he raises his thumb and touches it to just the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, encouraging it to open for him. And open it does, accepting Viktor’s thumb into the moist cavern of Yuuri’s mouth. His tongue laves around the tip, over the sensitive pad, and Viktor shudders as Yuuri’s eyelids droop so low that his pupils are hardly visible anymore. Viktor uses his other hand to cup Yuuri’s jaw, hinging it open to see Yuuri’s tongue at work around Viktor’s thumb. He presses down on Yuuri’s tongue, holds it in place to watch the drool pool in his mouth and slip down the side of his face, over his chin, onto his neck.

Viktor is so hard in his pants now that it hurts.

He pulls his thumb free and rubs it over Yuuri’s lips, smearing the red hue all over Yuuri’s cheek just the way he’d imagined doing earlier, living out his dream after an afternoon of being teased by its memory. Yuuri’s face is so hot, his breath is coming so hard and so fast and Viktor doesn’t even have time to blink before Yuuri is dropping to his knees and working on the buttons and zipper of Viktor’s pants.

“Wait - hold on, you don’t-”

“I want to.” Yuuri cuts Viktor off abruptly, hands deft as they yank the zipper down, then shift to the sides of Viktor’s thighs to grip tight at the fabric. Leverage. “You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you want me, and I’ve never wanted to suck someones dick as badly as I want to suck yours. You flaunt it around in the hot springs so often, how can you even act surprised now?”

And, well, Viktor has no argument for that. He allows Yuuri to tug his pants down, some relief on his aching dick, but not nearly enough. Yuuri gives pause to appreciate what’s before him, to think about all the times he’d fantasized about this as a teenager. About the taste and heat and weight of Viktor’s cock in his mouth. When he looks up at Viktor from under his lashes, Yuuri tells him all of this, and then leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to the bulge of Viktor’s penis, staining his boxers with cherry red.

Viktor is never going to wash them again.

“I used to think about you nearly every time I touched myself.” Yuuri tells him, dragging his nose along the stiff, taut line of his dick. The tip of it sticks out from beneath the waistband of Viktor’s underwear, and Yuuri lifts a hand to give it a gentle caress. Two fingers grazing, just-barely there. A petulant whine gurgles out of Viktor’s mouth as he watches the whole process of Yuuri snuggling with his dick. God, he can’t fucking take this.

“I had so many dreams about you.” The admittance causes Yuuri to blush, his embarrassed face leaving Viktor stunned. Brazen enough to get down on his knees and offer to suck his idol turned coach’s dick, yet not brazen enough to talk about his teenage wet dreams. Go figure.

“You are such a curious individual, Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor huffs out, bracing his hands against the barre with a moan as Yuuri licks and noses at him through the fabric. “ _Please_. Yuuri.”

Viktor almost - _almost_ \- misses the mischievous upward cut of Yuuri’s eyes flashing to look at him as he gives the tip of Viktor’s dick a sloppy, wet kiss that Viktor reels at, writhing against the ballet barre with a loud keen.

“I dreamed of making you beg, then you returning it onto me tenfold.”

And suddenly, blissfully, there is molten heat surrounding the head of his dick. Viktor finds that the next time he pries his eyes open to look down, his underwear are a pool of cloth around his ankles, bunched up with his pants, and Yuuri is at _long_ last setting to work. Viktor’s balls feel full enough to burst, but he keeps it together.

The floral red pigment of Yuuri’s lipstick gets spread up and down his cock as Yuuri kisses at his length, licking him from root to tip with the flat of his sinful tongue. Viktor allows himself to snake a shaky hand into Yuuri’s hair, rubbing at his scalp in encouragement as he treats Viktor to what is, without contest, the best head he has ever received.

Yuuri hums around him as he takes him in again, sliding down as far as his gag reflex will allow him. It’s not even halfway, but it’s still so deliriously good. Viktor flings his head back and reminds himself that they are in public, that anyone could be walking by in the hallway right now. He can’t be as vocal as he’d like to be. Truth be told, he’s probably already been too loud as it is. Hopefully not loud enough to draw attention, though. How mortifying a thought that someone could be out there right now, recording the sounds of upcoming star Yuuri Katsuki sucking the dick of _the_ Viktor Nikiforov.

Then Yuuri does something with his tongue and his teeth, a combination for delicious disaster that has Viktor growling low in his chest and thrusting forward into the wet heat of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri jerks, unexpectant, and then moans around Viktor, working over his dick harder, his newfound vigor leaving Viktor breathless. He pulls off with a smack, a string of spit snapping as he licks down Viktor’s cock, all the way down to his balls. He gives each one a teasing kiss, popping back up with a grin that he presses into the side of Viktor’s dick, mouth along it with sensual grace.

Viktor is so lost as to how this person is the same person that trips over nothing, who sometimes finds it hard to look Viktor in the eyes when they talk because of how easily flustered he gets.

But then he realizes that this is what Yuuri has been after all along. This is what they’ve _both_ been after.

This is Yuuri’s eros. And _god_ is Viktor thankful for it.

“You’re doing so well, Yuuri.” Viktor pants out, thumbing along Yuuri’s hairline unsteadily. His hair is a mess of tangling curls, mostly sweat matted down to his forehead. His makeup is smeared and messy, foundation patchy on his cheeks, and he is the picture perfect definition of debauchery. He is everything Viktor had wanted him to be like this.

He drinks in Viktor’s praise, laps it up along with the excessive amounts of precum bubbling up out from Viktor’s slit. He slides his tongue into it, daringly, and Viktor curses in Russian for five seconds straight, Yuuri pressing in all the while, licking at Viktor like he’s a delectable treat to be savored for hours. Viktor wishes they _had_ hours.

The reality is that they don’t. People are surely already looking for them, trying to hunt them down for all the interviews that they had dodged earlier. Viktor tries to do some of the math in his thought convoluted mind about how long it will take for them to both look presentable again, when he gets another thought instead.

“Say, Yuuri,” he whimpers, “What if we did all of our interviews looking just like this? The whole world would know what we’ve been up to.” It’s a thrilling thought, Viktor thinks, one that he wishes they could act on. To show the whole world that Yuuri belongs to him, now. That Viktor is Yuuri’s and Yuuri’s alone.

Yuuri must think so, too, because he shudders and takes Viktor back into his mouth fully again, bobbing his head up and down without any reservations. Viktor is panting at this point, moaning unabashedly. He’s so close. He can feel the orgasm sparking in his veins, lighting him up from beneath his skin. It starts in his toes, wiry and explosive as it shoots up his legs and combusts like supernovas behind his eyelids, shut so tight it gives him a momentary headache. He cums straight into Yuuri’s mouth, no warning, and Yuuri yanks away. Streams of Viktor’s cum shoot out across Yuuri’s face, splattering all over his mouth and cheeks, dripping out of his shocked, gaping mouth.

Once Viktor has his breath back and the world has recentered itself, he grins at Yuuri, the shock still on his face, sticky with cum. “Whoops~.” He says, and Yuuri slaps the back of his thigh, hard.

Viktor yelps dramatically, but bends down as much as he can to help Yuuri up onto trembling legs. He’s still so hard between his thighs, so Viktor takes pity on him, pressing a palm against his crotch. It’s a little lackluster considering how Yuuri has just sucked Viktor’s brain out through his dick, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind much at all.

He presses his cum covered face in against Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor doesn’t even react. He lets Yuuri press down on his palm, riding his hand as best as he can. It would be too hard and take too long to work Yuuri out of his costume now, something they both know, and there’s no time for Viktor to return the favor. Regardless of how much he so _very_ wants to.

“Such a good boy.” Viktor coos straight into Yuuri’s ear, warm breath skirting over his skin. Yuuri whimpers at the words, and Viktor makes a mental note to return to the praising thing at a later time. A time where they can be uninterrupted, where Viktor _can_ strip him down and take him apart, pull him to pieces, unravel his thin composure.

For now, they need to hurry. Viktor holds him close with his free arm, helping to keep the man upright as he shakes and grinds himself to an earth shattering orgasm. Viktor hears his name being breathed out against his chest, and something inside of him melts. When the wetness begins spreading across the front of Yuuri’s pants, Viktor worms his hand free and wraps both arms around Yuuri, holding him tight.

“Thank you.” Viktor says after a moment of them both catching their breath, and Yuuri hums, incapable of speech. Viktor sighs. “All of this over some makeup. Ah, I’m so ashamed of myself for letting you get the better of me.” Yuuri snorts and pinches at Viktor’s arm. Viktor laughs and shakes himself free in response, pushing Yuuri out to arm’s length to get one last good look at him.

The cum is starting to dry in sticky clumps all over Yuuri’s face, but _oh_ is he a sight. Viktor feels his dick stirring again, and ignores it to bend down and yank his pants and underwear back up all in one go. No time, no time, no time.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up. We have interviews to do! How rude of us for keeping them waiting, Yuuri…”

Viktor trails off as he wets the hem of his shirt and yanks it up to begin scrubbing at Yuuri’s face, working fast and diligent.

“Ow!” Yuuri whines, but Viktor carries on anyhow. His shirt is going to look disgusting during their interviews, but he may be able to get away with tucking it in and hiking his pants up a bit to hide the bulk of the disastrous makeup and cum mixed stains. They’ll be sitting down for most of them, anyway; who’s going to be paying any attention?

“Later,” Viktor begins once Yuuri’s face is, for the most part, significantly more clean. “I’m going to make you feel as good as I possibly can. It would be horribly ungentlemanly of me not to.” Yuuri bristles and flusters at Viktor’s words, trying to brush him off by telling him that that’s not necessary, but when Viktor looks at his face, his expression is one of nothing but blissful anticipation. Viktor smiles and dips down to press a kiss to the crown of Yuuri’s disheveled hair, for which there is nothing they can do to rectify except hope it looks like Yuuri has just been warming down after the competition.

Warmth spreads in Viktor’s chest, the starlit void of his ribcage exploding with happiness, and into Yuuri’s hair he whispers something in Russian that Yuuri doesn’t understand, but from the gentle touch of Viktor’s hand rubbing along his back, he has all the context he needs to translate it. He rises up to give Viktor a kiss, and then, together, they head back out into the hallway. Happy. Ready to face the world, ready to make history. Side by side.

-

_I love you._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yuurikatsukiss) for more viktuuri. 
> 
> thanks for reading!


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